Taken by the Highlander by Julianne MacLean

Author:Julianne MacLean
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781927675311
Publisher: Julianne MacLean Publishing Inc.
Published: 2015-12-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

For three days straight, Tomas and Logan road hard across the lush green Highlands on their quest to reach Kinloch Castle and make their plea to Angus the Lion. They were but half a day’s ride from the castle gates when they stopped near a shallow burn in the forest to rest the horses and camp for the night.

As Logan sat before the dying fire sipping strong wine and feeling the chill of the late summer night, he pondered the circumstances in which he now found himself. Not long ago, he had been content with a warrior’s life, scouting these familiar forests and glens with his brother Darach, day after day, week after week, month after month.

Tonight, he was a married man, longing overwhelmingly for the pleasure of his wife’s touch, her smile, and the mouthwatering aromas of her cooking at the end of the day.

At the same time, he was not sorry to be sitting outdoors before a sputtering fire with Tomas Campbell, who had spent the past three days regaling Logan with tales about his former chief—Logan’s own father—during the last years of his life. Tomas and Logan’s father had been as close as brothers and Logan felt good—for the first time in his adult life—that someone other than his own brother Darach knew his true heritage. The connection was fulfilling in a way he could not possibly describe.

As a result, Logan let down his guard that night as he refilled his wine cup and drank thirstily. He shared his own stories with Tomas—details about what had occurred between him and Darach on the road to Leathan and how they had disagreed about what to do with Larena—which was how Logan had ended up with a broken arm. Tomas understood his desire for vengeance. He even admired him for it.

It was very late when Logan fell asleep, wrapped in his tartan, oblivious to the chill in the air.

When he woke at a wicked, ungodly hour, it was to see Tomas marching back into the camp with his hands clasped behind his head and a musket jabbing him in the back.

* * *

“Logan, tell them who I am,” Tomas shouted as he was shoved forward across a patch of ferns on the forest floor.

Still half asleep and cursing the effects of the wine from the night before, Logan sat up lazily and squinted at the two men who held the weapons. They were Scots, not Redcoats, and they wore the MacDonald tartan.

“Logan! Ye lazy arse!” Gawyn shouted with merriment. “Where the devil have ye been all this time? And what are ye doing, making camp with a Campbell?”

Both weapons were immediately lowered, and Logan grimaced against the pounding agony in his skull. “His name is Tomas and he’s a friend. Jesus, Fergus!” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “When was the last time you took a bath?”

Fergus laughed, turned around and lifted his kilt to expose his bare, hairy bottom. “Missed me, did ya?”

Logan shielded his eyes.

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